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All Rise...

The Charge

"But obviously, the story that I told in the film was made up. But yes,
the story of the chess player is true."—Raymond Bernard (1965
interview with Kevin Brownlow)

Opening Statement

The year is 1776, and revolution is the order of the day. In Vilnius, the
Polish people hold out hope even as they suffer under the yoke of Tsarina
Catherine's Russian army. Boleslas Voronski (Pierre Blanchar) leads the
rebellion, flanked by his foster sister, Sophie (Edith Jehanne), the feminine
embodiment of the nation's spirit. When their attempted uprising fails, Boleslas
goes into hiding with a price on his head, his best friend, Russian officer
Prince Serge Oblomoff (Pierre Batcheff) and the cruel Major Nicolaieff (Camille
Bert)

Meanwhile, in a house on the edge of town, Baron von Kempelen (Charles
Dullin) lives alone and builds a curious collection of automatons to commemorate
the past. But soon he will need to use his genius to help those living in the
present—and pull off one of the greatest magic tricks in history.

The Evidence

Chess is war. Granted, it is war abstracted to pure logic, but no one would
doubt its origins. And who better to prosecute a game of pure logic than a
machine? Or so strategists have always thought. Pure logic, by all rights, must
win a war, like a computer with a purely logical mind must always win at
chess.

Of course, chess computers can rarely match the fuzzy logic and non-linear
strategies of a true grand master. And real war is always inherently chaotic,
invariably wrecking precise battle plans. Nonetheless, politicians and generals
have always thought that they could have war under control, as any tyranny
believes it can tame a population intent on breaking free. And people have
always been fascinated at the possibility that a machine might beat a master at
a game that marks the acme of human intellect: chess.

Case in point: in the 1770s, Baron von Kempelen—the real tinkerer, not
the fictionalized version in Raymond Bernard's 1927 silent epic, The Chess
Player—toured Europe with a clockwork curiosity he called "the
Turk." Dressed in exotic finery, this early robot would play any would-be
champion at chess, and win nearly every time. 98%, at least. It beat Ben
Franklin. Years after Kempelen's death, under a new owner, it beat Napoleon, who
apparently tried to cheat.

Of course, the Turk was a hoax, a magic trick. How did it work? Well, you
will have to read Tom Standage's recent book on the Turk. In his audio interview
on the new Milestone Collection DVD of The Chess Player, Standage talks
quite a bit about the social and philosophical climate surrounding the Turk, but
he does not tell you how Kempelen pulled off the trick. He wants to sell his
book, after all.

The real story of the Turk is, ironically, as interesting as Raymond
Bernard's melodrama. Restored in 1990, The Chess Player is presented in a
well-crafted package by the Milestone Collection, complete with tinting and a
newly recorded performance of Henri Rabaud's original score. There are a few
scratches here and there, but the film is in fine shape. If only the story were
as ambitious as Milestone's restoration. Bernard takes a very long time to get
to the Turk, introducing Kempelen's creation halfway through the film's running
time. The story he wants to tell is more about the romance and politics of the
era: the failed Polish uprising against Russia is the centerpiece of the first
of the film's two acts. While this part of the story culminates in an elaborate
cavalry battle, Bernard's static camera and reliance on medium shots tends to
undermine the dramatic scope. The film gets more interesting in its second half,
where Kempelen tries to smuggle the fugitive Boleslas out of Poland by using the
chess-playing soldier's skills as the heart of his fake automaton. When the
slippery Nicolaieff suspects the ruse, the Turk is sent to play chess with the
Tsarina herself. Kempelen and Sophie must come up with a plan to slip Boleslas
away from the Winter Palace right under the nose of the entire Russian
court.

It is hard to go wrong with an idea like the Turk, and the script builds
enough suspense in the second act to almost make up for the padded first act.
Bernard's film has several strong sequences, including a creepy climax in which
the villain faces off against a squad of automaton soldiers. But in between,
The Chess Player is often bogged down with improbable plot twists
(Sophie, the light of the revolution, turns out to be a disenfranchised Russian
princess) and lengthy scenes of romantic prattle (especially between Serge and
Sophie) that tend to distract from the action and suspense. Fortunately, the
cast avoids the usual histrionics associated with silent melodrama, and Bernard
wisely lets his images tell more of the story than intrusive title cards. When
the film clicks, especially at its climax, Bernard also manages to pull off some
clever images—check out the clockwork Death right near the end. If Bernard
had come up with more stuff like this, The Chess Player's Turk would have
been as well known a silent movie character as Rotwang's robot Maria in Metropolis.

Closing Statement

The Chess Player has enough good ideas to fill several films, although
often Bernard's approach is never quite up to the level necessary to exploit
these ideas effectively. Still, the film succeeds often enough to be worth a
look, especially for silent film buffs looking for those neglected classics. And
Milestone does its characteristically fine job making this restored edition
accessible to a contemporary audience. Besides, how cool is an army of 18th
century robots?

The Verdict

Milestone Films and Raymond Bernard is released for time served. The Turk is
impounded by this court, but Baron von Kempelen is released with a warning.
Court is adjourned.